Cottage Cheese and Green Onions Ch. 02

+++++

They were both off Sunday-Monday, and he was just waking up when the phone by his bed sounded off.

"Yello," he groaned into the handset.

"Sleeping in?" Sawyer said.

"Well, yeah, considering I didn't get in 'til damn near four in the fuckin' morning. Don't tell me you got up and went to church?"

"No," Becky said, "I mowed the lawn, picked some weeds out in my garden."

"Jesus...you ambitious people make me ill."

She laughed. "I'm going to go to a place I know east of here for lunch. Wanna go?"

"I dunno. What kind of grub?"

"CFS, bar-b-cued ham, good veggies and righteous cobblers."

"East Texas grub, huh."

"You betcha."

"I'll be ready in a half hour."

"A half hour? What...are you going to put on make up and heels?" she asked.

"Yeah, little lady, I wanna look a purdy for you, ya-ya-know," he said, doing his best John Wayne imitation.

"Dear God. A John Wayne fan."

"With my name - well, it kinda had to be, I guess."

"I guess. I'll be there in ten. You be ready."

He said "Yes, Ma'am," but he was pretty sure she'd already hung up the phone, so he hopped in the shower and threw on some clothes and made it down to his apartment building's parking lot just as she pulled in - in a slate blue '74 Triumph Spitfire...with the top down!

"My, my, but you are full of surprises," he said as he folded his mile long legs into the right front seat.

"It was Bob's. I couldn't bring myself to get rid of it."

"Bob?"

She turned away, took a deep breath. "Yeah. Bob was my, well, we were not quite married but should have been. He worked for DSO, was killed one night, hit while working an accident."

"Damn. Sorry to bring it up."

"Keeping this old thing brings it up, John. I like to bring it up, I guess. Reminded that he was such a big part of my life once."

"You never married, you said?"

"Yeah. The whole two cops thing," she said as she pulled out onto the street. "Simpler that way, I guess. We wanted to keep everything 'uncomplicated,' I guess."

"If you're not having kids I reckon there's not much reason to get married."

"That's what Bob used to say."

"You...don't agree with that, do you?"

She shook her head. "I like permanence. Knowing I can count on someone, and that they can count on me."

"Does it take a piece of paper to make that happen?"

She nodded her head. "I think so. Sometimes it's that little piece of paper that makes people think twice before they say, or do, something stupid. That little piece of paper that keeps you focused on today AND tomorrow. Know what I mean, Jellybean?"

"So, you think two cops can't make a go of it?"

"Oh, not at all. Matter of fact, I think the only person a cop can rationally marry is another cop. You know the stats as well as I do."

"Yeah, got that on day one in academy."

"Yeah, well, that's the point. I think marriage is a good thing, and being married to a cop is the best thing, for me, that'll ever be."

"Where are you going with this, Becky?"

"To lunch."

He laughed. "That's not what..."

"I know what you meant. I guess I want to know you better, John. Let's just leave it at that for now, okay?"

"Yeah, okay." But that was going to be difficult, as after Friday night he'd had a hard time thinking about anything else. Yeah, he'd been snockered, but not so out of it he didn't know what was going down, and he'd enjoyed her, physically, but a lot more than that had quickly developed between them. Right down to her call this morning.

With the top down and her speed nailed on 55, the little Spitfire purred along and the wind wasn't bothersome. He leaned back, turned his face to the sun and felt the dance between warm sun and crisp autumn air, and he felt the muscles in his shoulders ease for the first time in days.

"Damn, it's nice out here," he sighed.

"I miss life out here. It was slower, easier. Dallas is changing fast, too. It's not going to be 'Paris on the Prairie' much longer, ya know?"

"It's getting to be more and more like LA. Too many people pulling in too many different directions, pulling the fabric of the city in too many directions, too. Something's gotta give."

"It's giving all the time, John. People weren't meant to live like this, all bunched up and pushing in against each other all the time. A few hundred years ago we were almost all nomads, bound together by common interests and our beliefs, often by our churches. And now - this? Too many people piled on top of one other, doing meaningless jobs, almost leading meaningless lives and with zero prospects. Add drugs to that mix and we've grown a toxic cycle of decay and despair."

"Sorry I asked."

"I started on my Master's last spring, just taking a couple of classes a term, but this stuff interests me as much as it bothers me. Doing nothing is being complicit, ya know?"

"So, you gonna teach?"

"I've been doing this fifteen years; five more and I can take early retirement. I'll be in my early forties, and if I can finish a PhD by then I can teach college; if not I can teach in junior colleges or even high schools. Do that 'til I'm sixty-five and I can have a nice retirement."

"And do that with a husband and have an even nicer retirement? Is that the way that song goes?"

"Something like that," she said, casting a little sidelong glance his way. "Does that sound bad to you?"

"No, not at all. It's good to have some kind of goal in mind, and that's as good as any I've heard."

"My mom's gone, but my dad still lives out here. Mind if we drop by? I haven't seen him in a few weeks."

"I'd like that."

Another sidelong glance, another grin in the flickering sunlight...

'Damn,' he thought, 'it sure feels good out here.'

Into Athens then south on 19 about five miles, they turned onto a little red sand road and drove about a half mile off the highway until they came to an immaculately kept bungalow. Pristine white with light gray trim on the soffit and around the windows, it was classic twenties farm architecture, and the barns were as immaculate as the house. 'This guy's the real deal,' he thought as they pulled up to the house.

And his name was, as it had to be, Tom Sawyer. Red hair going gray, a few freckles on his nose and forehead, he even had a mischievous twinkle in his eyes as he walked up and hugged his daughter, then looked over at Dickinson.

"Your name really John Wayne?" he asked.

"John Wayne Dickinson. Named after two uncles."

"Hell, that's worse than Tom Sawyer," the old man said - taking his hand - and everyone laughed. An old coon hound up on the front porched barked once, a deep, booming volley of a bark, and Tom turned to the dog: "Huck! Knock it off!"

"Don't tell me...that's Huck Finn, right?"

He turned to his daughter. "Hell, Becky, this one reads books. Quite an improvement over that last fella."

Her face turned beet red. "Dad? Be nice, okay?"

"Yup. Reckon I can try that."

"How many acres you got here, sir," Dickinson interjected, trying to change the subject.

The old man looked at him, then just shook his head.

"Uh," Becky said, "that's kind of rude to ask. Least most people out here think it is."

"Really? Why?"

"There're a few things most folks out here consider off limits," the old man said. "Politics, religion, how much land you got and how big your dick is. Keep them in mind if you talk to folks out here - got it?"

"Yessir. So. How many acres you got?"

Tom and Becky both laughed. "Shit. I like him, Becky."

"He's alright, Dad."

"Well," Tom said, pointing out behind the house, "we got a hundred and sixty back here, and across the road over there," he said, pointing across the highway, "I just picked up forty more. They've been planting corn over there for a hundred years, but I'm gonna let the ground rest a while, run some cows. Good grass, maybe try some dairy stock for a few years, feed the soil then move 'em back over here."

"You have dairy cows here?"

"Yup. Milkin' barn over there," he said pointing to one of the huge - and pristine - barns a hundred yards further back from the house. Got about forty acres of soy planted out back."

"I always thought having a dairy farm would be the unshelled nuts," John added.

"Oh, it's a lot of fun. The getting up at three thirty in the morning, seven days a week. Real fun."

"Satisfying, I think I should have said. Growing things, yeah, but there's something about dairy that seems like it's a good thing."

"Spend much time on a farm?"

"No, sir. I grew up in Dallas, so the closest I've been to a farm was the livestock pavilion at the fair. Still, the thing is, I linger there, look at the animals, watching the kids and their 4-H projects. Feels like I missed out on something important, if you know what I mean?"

"Yup, I do. So, did y'all come down to talk, or you wanna slide over to May's."

"Dad? You like to join us?"

"I was about to head over myself, if you can stand the company?"

"May's?" John asked.

"May's Cafe," Becky answered. "About a mile from here. Best food in East Texas."

Tom followed them in his own two-seater, a twenty-something year old Chevy pickup, and they parked in front of a old, white diner, the surface of the parking lot a mishmash of mud and old asphalt roofing shingles that had been baked by time into a semi-hard surface. There were two Harley's in front, in the lone shady spot, and John followed Becky inside to another world.

Just a handful of table, five or so, and a small counter - with no stools - greeted them, and over in the corner? Willie Nelson and Waylon Jennings had some sheet music open, and they were working away on a piece - which jolted Dickinson out of his reveries. As they walked over to a table Nelson looked up at Becky and smiled: "Hey, Beck, how's it goin'?" he said as he stood and came over for a hug.

Which was as affectionately returned.

Then Tom walked up and shook hands all around, and Becky introduced John - who suddenly appeared tongue-tied and twisted inside.

They left them to it when May came out. "Almost out of ham, Tom," the woman in the flour-specked apron said.

"What kind of cobbler you got," he shot back - as if the choice determined what he'd order for lunch.

"Apple and blackberry. Oh, I made up some cheese-grits too, Tom, in case you want an egg on your CFS."

Dickinson's mouth was already watering from the smells drifting out of the kitchen - parts of which were visible just on the other side of the counter - and he looked at the old woman like she was some kind of magician. Everyone asked for a CFS, or chicken fried steak - and she was serving up turnip greens and mashed potatoes with it today, which suited all concerned just fine.

The afternoon was warming up and the little dining room's window box air conditioners were rattling away, cooling the space just enough to make it comfortable, then the songwriters paid their bill and said goodbye on their way out - just as a lone girl walked in and sat by herself over by one of the air conditioners.

"Looks like a Koon Kreek girl," Tom said, looking at the girl as May walked up to her table and described the days menu.

"A what?"

"Koon Kreek Klub," Becky added. "Never heard of it?"

"Nope."

"Kind of a close cousin of the Petroleum Club downtown. Old Dallas place. Words are spelled out with Ks. Ya know, as in KKK. Something like a 40 year waiting list to get in, costs a shitload, too."

"A club? What kind of..."

"Huntin' and fishin'," Tom said.

"Downtown, at the Petroleum Club, there's a mural on one of the walls. I mean a real oil painting, of ducks taking flight from one of the lakes there. The two are linked, I guess you'd say. When you consider oil is the biggest industry in the world and these two clubs are where the top oilmen in the world hang out, or aspire to hang out, it makes the place kind of a big deal."

"And no one knows much about 'em?"

"Yup."

"And that's a Koon Kreek gal? Know her, Tom?"

The old man shook his head. "Nope. Don't pay much attention to them folk, and they don't pay none to me, neither. I like to keep it that way, too."

"Oh, why?"

"You got something they want, they take it. One way tor another. They pretty much keep to themselves down here though, but if they got a hankerin' to pick up some land, say, or a business in town, well, no one get's in their way."

He turned to Becky then: "Say...you know Willie?"

She grinned. "Yup."

"From around here?"

She shrugged, picked up a jalapeño from the plate on the table and took a slice, munched on it, then took a sip of ice water.

"Nothing to say about that?" John added.

"Nope."

"Ah."

Their lunches came, huge plates overflowing with cream gravy, and Tom's steak had a sunny side up egg on top, as well as a small dish heaped with steaming cheese grits.

"Dear God," Dickinson sighed, "if this is half as good as it looks..."

Tom spoke while he salt and peppered his plate: "May makes the best CFS in Texas. Hell, even LBJ used to stop by on his swings around the state, when he was courtin' the vote, anyway. Man wasn't as stupid as he seemed."

John looked at Becky just then, noticed her trying not to look at the gal across the room so he turned around and looked. The girl looked at him, didn't break contact for a moment, then she shook her head and turned back to a book she had open on the table - some kind of textbook, he guess, by the look of it.

He turned back to his plate and no one spoke while they worked their way through the meal, but May came out and slapped three blackberry cobblers on the table when they got close to finishing up. "Anyone want coffee?" she asked.

"Got any buttermilk?" Tom asked.

"Ain't your arteries hard enough, Tom Sawyer?" May shot back.

"Not hardly."

"Well, I'll see if I got some."

They settled up a half hour later, and Becky watched as the 'Koon Kreek gal' paid up and walked out to a new Mustang convertible, and she headed north like she was going back to Dallas - and that fit...if she'd been down at daddy's house over the weekend. They said 'bye' to May and walked out to her Spitfire, talked a minute or so, and Tom asked them to come down again real soon before they loaded up and started the drive back to Dallas.

"Well, that's my father. What'd you think of him?"

"I like him."

"But?"

"No buts, he just seems kinda lonely. How long ago did your mother pass?"

"Been a while."

"He's not gonna get remarried?"

"Doesn't want to. He works all day and Huck doesn't leave his side. Seems content, anyway, to finish out his life that way."

"Like I said. Lonely."

"I think so too."

"He gonna sell the place?"

"Nope. Goes to me. I always thought I'd come back out here someday, maybe try to make a go of it. You mean what you said about dairy cows?"

"Yup."

She turned and looked at him then, then nodded her head. "You wanna, like, move in with me?"

The question startled him, and it showed.

"Look," she added, "I'm not trying to be forward, but maybe we ought to see where this is headed, ya know?"

"One of us would have to quit, you know."

"Only if we got married."

"So, just live together?"

"For a while. See if this...thing...is real?"

"This thing?"

"Well, yeah. You see, John, the thing is, I think I'm falling in love with you..."

He smiled, turned and looked at her as she drove. "You too, huh."

And she looked at him, looked at his smile. "Oh, yeah. I got it bad."

"Why don't we run by my place and I'll pick up a few things..."

And so they drove on, back to the city - lost in thoughts about the future - and neither saw the Mustang convertible following a few miles back...

This fragment © 2017 | adrian leverkühn | abw | a little bit of fiction...